Every once in a while I remember back in the early ’00’s when I asked a friend how she could bear to put her whole life on the internet. “But, it isn’t my whole life,” she explained. “It’s just the parts I’m sharing.” On MySpace, which I eventually understood could be renamed “My space for a mere echo of my actual self,” I learned that it was …tidier to keep some things back. It was… expected, and it made things neater.
It’s funny how much harder that is for me with poetry.
what we do not say
flutters up on pinioned wings
like moths seeking flame
flutters up on pinioned wings
like moths seeking flame